II
It had been two years since we left the world behind, trading city life for survival in the wilderness. I never thought I'd end up living in a cave, but here we were. Our tent had been shredded to pieces after just two months of mountain storms, and with no other option, I'd turned to the nearest shelter I could find—a damp, dark cave.
The cave was a work in progress, to say the least. I'd fashioned some shoddy furniture from sticks and scrap wood, and my proudest achievement was the water system I rigged up with bamboo. It wasn't pretty, but it worked. Every time I looked around, I was reminded of my lack of preparation. No tools, no real skills, and definitely no experience with DIY construction. But somehow, we'd made it work.
Leon, on the other hand, was thriving. At just two years old, he was a little ball of energy. He'd started walking at ten months, and now? He ran, climbed, and jumped like he was training for some toddler Olympics.
As if to prove it, he darted across the cave toward me, giggling uncontrollably. Before I could stop him, he grabbed onto my leg and started climbing like a cat scaling a tree. "Leon, seriously?" I said, but I couldn't help smiling.
By the time he perched himself on my shoulders, babbling nonsense into my ear, I was already laughing. "Alright, monkey, time to come down." I carefully pried him off and placed him in his makeshift crib—a contraption that was more optimistic than engineering. I knew it wouldn't hold him for long.
Sure enough, within seconds, Leon was standing in the crib, gripping the edges and bouncing as if daring the thing to collapse. His wide, mischievous grin told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Leon, take it easy," I warned, but he just babbled something unintelligible in response.
That babbling was starting to worry me. Physically, he was way ahead of the curve, but verbally? Not so much. Every day, I talked to him, repeating words and phrases, hoping he'd pick up something. Anything. But so far, all I'd gotten were random sounds.
I leaned against the wall of the cave, watching him with a mix of pride and concern. Was something wrong? Shouldn't he have said at least a word or two by now?
"Bla-bla-bluba~!" he babbled, grinning up at me with those big, innocent eyes.
"Well, at least you're trying," I said with a smirk. "Guess my boy's not exactly a genius. Must've gotten that from your mom."
He responded with a string of babbles as if defending himself.
Shaking my head, I grabbed a stick I'd been whittling earlier and began shaving down the sides. It wasn't much, but it worked as a makeshift toothbrush. Caveman life didn't come with a dental plan, after all.
As I chewed on the stick, I glanced at Leon, who was now sitting in the crib, completely absorbed in trying to pull off one of his socks. Life in the cave was rough, sure, but moments like this reminded me why I kept going.
After finishing with the stick, I scooped Leon up from the crib. His little giggle filled the cave as I lifted him into the air and swung him around. "Who's the strongest of them all? You!" I grinned, bouncing him up again.
"Baba~! Ba!" he babbled, his laughter echoing through the cave.
"Yeah, yeah, who's the most handsome of them all? That's right, you are!" I said, ruffling the small strands of black hair growing on his head.
He had my hair—thick and dark—but those bright blue eyes? Those were all his mom. He was going to be a heartbreaker someday.
I sighed, setting him down on the floor and watching as he immediately scampered off to inspect a pile of sticks I'd gathered earlier. "Just don't set anything on fire, alright?" I muttered under my breath.
Because with Leon, you could never be too sure.
The sun was dipping lower, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Shadows stretched long and thin across the forest floor, and the temperature started to drop. It was a reminder that nighttime wasn't far off—a time when the forest's quiet felt heavier, almost oppressive.
And right on cue, Leon's mood began to shift.
At first, it was a low whimper, the kind that said, Hey, something's wrong, but I'm not ready to scream about it yet. Then, as if a switch flipped, the whimper turned into full-blown fussing. He wriggled in my arms, his little hands flailing like he was trying to swat away the problem himself.
"Alright, alright…" I sighed, adjusting him against my shoulder. "What's the deal this time, huh?"
Experience told me it could only be one of two things: a dirty diaper or hunger. And given our track record, it was probably both.
I checked his diaper first, bracing myself for the worst. A quick peek revealed that, by some miracle, it was clean. "Well, that's a win," I muttered, relieved to dodge the bullet this time.
That left hunger.
Setting Leon down in the crib for a moment—where he immediately began protesting with more squirming—I got to work on the milk routine. It was second nature by now, almost like muscle memory.
I grabbed the pot and filled it with water from the bamboo system I'd rigged. The fire was already going, so it didn't take long to get the water boiling. I poured it into a bottle, added the formula, and gave it a good shake. Then came the part I hated the most: waiting for it to cool down to a safe temperature.
Leon wasn't exactly known for his patience, and tonight was no exception. His fussing grew louder, his little fists waving in frustration.
"Hold your horses, kiddo," I muttered, testing the bottle against my wrist. Still too warm.
Eventually, it was just right. I scooped him up again and offered the bottle. Like magic, the moment he latched on, his tantrum stopped. He sucked greedily, his earlier frustration already forgotten.
"There we go," I said softly, brushing a stray strand of his hair out of his face. "Crisis averted. For now."
He drank in silence, his blue eyes wide and unblinking as they stared up at me. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me—some kind of hero? A protector? Or just a guy trying not to screw everything up?
"You'll be fine, kiddo," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "You'll be fine."
The truth was, I wasn't so sure. Every day felt like walking a tightrope, one misstep away from disaster. But as long as Leon was fed, warm, and safe, I told myself that I was doing enough.
As he finished the bottle, his eyes grew heavy, and he started to drift off in my arms. I held him for a while longer, just watching him sleep.
The forest outside grew darker, the sounds of nocturnal life beginning to stir. Another day survived. Another night ahead.
"Tomorrow's another day," I whispered softly. "We'll figure it out."
After a long day of wrangling Leon, I finally managed to get him to sleep. His little chest rose and fell in rhythm, and for once, the cave felt quiet. Carefully, I laid him down in the makeshift crib, adjusting the blanket around him.
"Sweet dreams, kiddo," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
With Leon settled, I grabbed a small package wrapped in foil from a hidden nook in the cave and slipped outside. The cool night air greeted me, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire inside. Stars blanketed the sky, and the forest hummed with nocturnal life.
I made my way to my usual spot: a sturdy old tree with a thick branch perfect for sitting. Climbing up, I reached the spot where the signal was just strong enough to connect.
Perching on the branch, I unwrapped the foil package. Inside were three smartphones—cheap, untraceable, and absolutely vital. One by one, I powered them up, waiting for the weak signal to stabilize.
It was a good thing I'd invested in fresh SIM cards during my last supply run. Burners were a necessity in my new line of work, and I wasn't about to leave a digital trail that could lead anyone back to me or Leon.
Once everything was booted up, I connected through proxies and started sifting through the digital ether. My first stop? Emails. Most were mundane, coded exchanges with clients or automated updates. A few caught my eye, and I made mental notes to respond later.
Next, I delved into the real reason I risked climbing a tree in the middle of the night: intel on the hunter world.
The Hunter's Net was an underground hub, a shadowy digital marketplace where hunters conducted business, traded information, and boasted about their exploits. It was the kind of place you'd never stumble upon unless you knew exactly where to look—and I did.
Navigating the forums was second nature now. I'd spent the past two years quietly carving out a niche for myself as an information broker. Using what I knew about this world from the novel I'd written back in my old life, I offered insights no one else could.
The payments? Favors or information. No cash. I couldn't risk leaving a financial trail, and I wasn't exactly keen on dealing with the kinds of people who traded in hard currency on the Hunter's Net.
Scrolling through the latest threads, I found the usual mix of bravado and desperation. A hunter bragging about a rare kill. Another lamenting the loss of a partner. Deals for exotic weapons and relics were posted alongside pleas for help with dangerous jobs.
I focused on the intel requests, skimming for anything that aligned with what I could offer. One post caught my attention—a hunter looking for information on a rogue group operating in the area. I filed it away, already formulating a response that would keep my anonymity intact while providing just enough value to maintain my reputation.
For two years, this had been my lifeline. The knowledge I had from the novel—the lore, the world-building, the intricacies of hunter society—was my greatest weapon. I'd leveraged it to stay one step ahead, to barter for the things Leon and I needed to survive.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Back in my old life, I'd written this world for fun. Now, it was my reality, and the stakes were higher than I'd ever imagined.
After an hour of sifting through posts and tweaking my proxies, I powered down the phones and slipped them back into the foil package. The forest was darker now, quieter, the faint sounds of nocturnal creatures echoing through the trees.
I climbed down from the tree, careful not to make a sound. Back in the cave, Leon was still fast asleep, his tiny form bundled under the blanket.
Sitting by the fire, I stared at the flickering flames, my mind racing with everything I'd read. The hunter world was a dangerous place, and I'd spent two years dancing on its edges, careful not to fall in.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that our time on the sidelines was running out.
With Leon finally asleep and the cave quiet, I pulled out one of my small notebooks, the worn cover reflecting the firelight. Flipping through the pages, I found an empty spot and clicked my pen.
The familiar scratch of pen on paper was oddly soothing. I started drafting storylines—ideas for three webnovels I'd left on hiatus ever since life threw me into survival mode.
Writing had always been my escape, even back in my old life. Ten years ago, when I first landed in this world, I was just another homeless teenager with no credentials, no connections, and no clue what to do next.
Getting a proper job had been out of the question. Employers wanted IDs, resumes, and experience—things I didn't have. So, I scraped by on odd jobs and, when things got desperate, a bit of racketeering.
Eventually, I saved up enough to buy my first laptop. It wasn't much—an old, secondhand machine that overheated if I pushed it too hard—but it was mine. That laptop became my lifeline.
I taught myself how to write better, fueled by a mix of desperation and a love for storytelling I'd carried over from my past life. Webnovels became my ticket to survival. I churned out chapters like my life depended on it—because it did.
It was funny in a way. The very thing that had started as a means to survive ended up changing my life in ways I never expected.
I met my wife because of those stories.
The memory brought a faint smile to my lips as I paused my scribbling. She'd been one of my most loyal readers, someone who left thoughtful comments on every chapter. At first, I didn't think much of it—just another fan among many.
But then she reached out, sending me a private message about a plot inconsistency. It wasn't the usual nitpicking; she'd clearly put thought into it, and her insights were sharp. Intrigued, I replied, and one message turned into a hundred.
We bonded over late-night chats, discussing everything from character arcs to world-building. Somewhere along the way, the conversations became less about the stories and more about us.
I didn't even realize I was falling for her until it was too late.
A pang of guilt tugged at my chest as I stared at the half-finished outline in my notebook. I hadn't seen her in two years. Didn't know if she was safe, if she was still out there, if she even thought about me anymore.
Shaking off the thought, I focused back on the notebook. The stories were simpler times—worlds where I had control, where I could shape outcomes. Unlike the chaos of my current reality.
The fire crackled softly as I worked, the cave feeling almost cozy in the stillness. For a moment, it was just me, my pen, and the world I was creating on the page.
Even if it was fleeting, it felt like a piece of normalcy in a life that had become anything but.
~002